I needed to make haste, find a way for Bayroo to escape. ”You can help me figure out how to get you out of here.”
“Out?” She moved and the links of the handcuff clinked. “I’m fastened here.” Her voice wobbled.
I spoke easily. “Let’s get a little moonlight. That will help. I’m going to move that chest away from the loft window, open the shutter. I’ll be right back.” I gave her a reassuring pat. Her body stiffened, but she made no complaint.
I pulled the drawers from the chest, placed them to one side. I gripped the sides of the chest, edged it away from the shutter. The bottom scraped against the floor. I paused to listen. Would Anita hear the noise, return to discover the source? Or did she feel confident that Bayroo was stuck and noise didn’t matter? No sound came from the stairs. In a moment I’d shoved the chest to one side.
The shutter was harder to manage. I didn’t know if Anita had
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wedged something to keep it in place or if an old hinge had jammed.
I pulled and struggled and finally, with a desperate yank, the shutter splintered and gave way. I tumbled backward.
Moonlight splashed into the loft. Night air swept inside, cool swift air threaded with wisps of smoke.
“I smell smoke.” Bayroo’s voice was puzzled.
I smelled smoke, too, thicker and stronger. Now that it was silent in the loft, the scrapes and bangs and screeches ended, I heard a faint crackling sound, the insidious rustle as flame devoured desiccated wood. Now a rustle, the fire would soon be a roar.
“Auntie Grand!” Bayroo yanked her arm. The bracelet rattled against the handle. “I can’t get loose.” In the spill of moonlight, she was a small, dark shape jerking frantically.
In a sudden, frightening rush, hot, oily smoke clouded the loft, obscuring the moonlight, turning our world dark again with no glimmer of light from the loft window. Bayroo began to cough. “Auntie Grand, look at that funny glow.”
Orange-tinted smoke swirled into the loft, rising from the barn floor. Flames could not be far behind.
“Auntie Grand, did she set fire to the barn?” Bayroo’s voice was stricken.
“Yes.” Away from Bayroo’s young face, Anita Leland had made a fatal decision.
Bayroo choked and sputtered, words coming in short gasps. “. . .
stuck . . . can’t move that door . . . chest hurts . . .”
“I’m coming.” I pictured the ax shaft and I was beside it, my grasping hand tight on its splintery handle. Bayroo was not far away.
I dropped down beside her.
Thin arms reached out, clung to me. Bayroo breathed in quick, desperate gasps. Acrid fumes clogged our throats.
“I’m here.” I wedged the shaft into the space between the handle and door, used the ax handle as a fulcrum, and applied my weight.
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I pushed and pushed and pushed. Abruptly the refrigerator door handle snapped. The ax shaft went flying and I fell in a heap, but I was laughing and crying and hugging Bayroo. “The window,” I shouted. “We’ve got to get to the window.” Bayroo wobbled to her feet. I clutched her arm and we blindly moved forward. How far? Ten feet, perhaps twelve. Blessedly, the smoke thinned in time for me to see the opening. Bayroo hung her head out, drawing in deep breaths. The rush and hiss of flames crackled ominously.
Moonlight spread its glory over the barnyard, making the branches of the huge old maple distinct against the night sky.
The nearest branch was only fifteen feet away. Not many feet to walk or run, too many feet to jump. I looked down and saw the moonlight spread across the dirt so far below. The loft window was at least thirty feet above the ground.
Behind us the fire flared and heat pulsed toward us, flames curving and twisting, reaching to the roof.
Bayroo looked down. She clung to the side of the loft. “Auntie Grand, I can’t jump down and the tree’s too far!” Despair curled in my heart. Beloved Bayroo was doomed. I would try, but I knew, even as I slipped my arm around her shoulder, that I would not be able to carry her to the tree.
I’d never felt more alone. I’d insisted to Wiggins that I wanted no more interference, that I was capable of completing my task. Pride had prompted my outburst to him, and now Bayroo would pay a dreadful price because of me.
I bent close to her cheek, shouted over the roar of the flames.
“We’ll make it. Jump toward that lower branch, Bayroo. I’ll be with you.”
We jumped. I clutched Bayroo and held tight and struggled, but she was too heavy, slipping from my grasp, her cry rising in the night.
“Steady, now.” Wiggins’s deep voice was as strong and loud as
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the clack of train wheels. “I’ve got you both. Here we go,” and we reached the tree.
The refrigerator door handle dangling from the handcuff banged against Bayroo, but her grasping fingers locked onto a branch. She swung for a moment, pulled herself up, and clung to the trunk, pressing her face against the bark, her back heaving as she struggled for breath.
